Intoxicating
by lemzii
Summary: Morgana isn't the sort to just be a notch on someone else's bedpost. And she also doesn't get seduced by drunken knights. But there's just something about him...


It's hard to work out what entices, pulls, and draws Morgana towards him. He has charm that has the ability to fool fickle serving girls and the muscle to make the wannabe princesses swoon. Yet to someone of her standard and power, he shouldn't be attractive _whatsoever_.

She doesn't know if others have noticed at banquets or festivals the pull and tension-filled air between her and this boisterous knight: she sizes him up and looks at him with disdain, whilst he grins cheekily and winks, even flicking his sweat-filled, brown hair in a way that just infuriates her. Perhaps the way he pisses her off is what makes her want to control him, slam him against the wall and cut down his smugness with her power.

Morgana is and always will be a strong woman. Her emotions come second to her actions and her motives, and she'd rather kill a thousand men than admit her sexual attraction towards this arrogant, egotistical knight.

The first time they have an _encounter_ is at the Annual Fall banquet, when the food has been finished and the bards have begun to play. She stops dancing with faceless suitors to stride to a hidden corridor; its grand stained-glass window looking out onto the courtyard provides a perfect solitude for her. Just as she begins to relax, the faint sound of following footsteps stiffens her shoulders. In a fluid motion, Morgana pulls out a dagger from her halter and spins round, the blade aimed for the neck of her follower.

A slightly drunk, brown-haired knight is behind her, already holding his hands up in an apologetic way, dark eyes focused on hers rather than the blade poised to cut his throat. She admires his braveness and retreats the dagger, resting her palms against the stone window sill behind.

"It's rude to follow someone, you'd think a knight of your position would know that", her words are sharp, icy, laying stagnant in the tension the two of them manage to create in milliseconds. His eases into a smile and nods his head.

"It's a different matter when one wishes to be followed. The festivities boring you, are they?" She flicks her tongue inside her cheek whilst contemplating an answer.

"I think you assume every woman walking by herself _wants_ to be followed," She was aware of his reputation and it infuriated her for unexplainable reasons. Morgana didn't like sluts, especially when they were men.

"Low blow," he retorted with a chuckle, moving out of the corridor's shadows and into the light of the moon through the stained-glass window. "There's something about you, Morgana. I don't know why, but you just seem to see everyone as being this small" – he described a small measurement with his tanned, hairy fingers – "whilst you're up on some high, flawless pedestal."

"Maybe that's what I deserve," she replied truthfully, leaving the sentence hanging in the air as a small, pitiful joke that they both knew was what she desperately yearned for. His smile was contagious in the moonlight and the faint, warm alcohol-tainted breath of his was intoxicating.

"I for one think you deserve a whole lot more," he'd become more forward and there was challenge, risk in his voice, his palms now resting against the same windowsill as hers. There was limited space between them, his brown locks almost tampering with her silky, back trails and both of them knew that talk was irrelevant now. Action was of first place importance, but movement in the corridor broke their connection and before he could warn her, Morgana had disappeared into the depths of the castle.

She initiated their second encounter. Arthur and his knights had been in stressful, tense talks throughout the day and every single person involved was walking around with knots in their muscles and grimaces on their faces. Morgana – with her thirst for blood and war – had sat in on one of the morning councils for no longer than thirty minutes before she had to excuse herself, fuming about the decisions being made and the bullshit advice Arthur was being offered by his knights. A particular, brown-haired knight had made a suggestion that seemed more likely to impress Morgana that Arthur, and though she agreed with it, Arthur turned it down immediately and glared at his half-sister.

If it were her kingdom, issues like this would have been settled in a matter of _seconds_ and she would not need to even call council with ill advice, braun-induced men who knew how to hold a sword and shag unsuspecting women.

Morgana's departure had been noticed by a certain knight who prowled her for the rest of the day. She'd avoided him with little effort and it became tiresome instead of fun after a while, and so Morgana sent for a servant to find him.

He appeared at the doorway looking as charming and disgustingly smug as ever and Morgana found herself gritting her teeth. This man pissed her off but still posed such a conflict to her inner demons – she just couldn't resist him. "Searching for me, were you?" Morgana asked sharply, revelling in the fact it reduced his grin to a faltered smirk.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat and she braced herself for an exciting confrontation, "why do you think you're better than everyone else, Morgana? You're nothing special, just a human like everyone else, so why don't you just live for once instead of trying to be a flawless creature?"

"You want me to live, huh?" She challenged, her face emotionless, and in one swift movement she strode across to him, pressed his strong body against the door and locked it shut, her own body flushed against his. "I'll show you living, Gwaine, like you've never felt it before."

She didn't give him a chance to speak another word because her lips took his in a rough, quick passion that left him breathless. Morgana wanted to be the one in control here – there was no way she was going to let herself succumb to his charm. She wanted him on his knees, beginning for her to stop, or for her to do disgusting things to him. When she parted, Gwaine's eyes were dark, lidded and he was silent, waiting for her to take the lead. She gave him a teasing smile and pulled him by the collar towards the bed, using his fingers to push him down into the sheets.

They didn't need any words or any challenges. Gwaine was willing to be used as a puppet by her, and when she asked, he elicited sweet, delicate moans for her inner demons, pushing her into the covers, touching her skin with fingers like burning fire. She was able to make him feel like he was in another world, struggling to come down from an explosive high. And he was able to satisfy her in ways she never knew possible.

The idea of just becoming another notch in her bedpost was irrelevant. He'd become one on hers.


End file.
